Tradition
by could-have-beens
Summary: Hans keeps finding himself caught under the mistletoe. Somehow, it's always Anna's fault. /\ Or, alternatively, seven kisses Hans and Anna share under the mistletoe. Childhood friends AU.
1. Chapter 1

Hans keeps finding himself caught under the mistletoe. Somehow, it's always Anna's fault.

Or, alternatively, seven kisses Hans and Anna share under the mistletoe. Childhood friends AU.

* * *

i.

To think, just a few weeks ago, Hans had been so excited when he had learned of his betrothal. The last of his thirteen brothers, he had been resigned to waiting for each of his older siblings to be paired off with wives before even hoping for a match of his own. And he would have waited a long time, if his brother Lars hadn't intervened.

Only Lars would give more than a passing glance at the small kingdom of Arendelle, and only he would see the opportunity in its two young and eligible princesses. Only Lars would care about his youngest brother enough to make him a match, and only Lars would have the charisma and wits to pull it off.

And what a match it was. A crown princess. A future queen.

No one but Lars, Hans' sole ally in his entire family, would have thought of it. Not even their father would have cared enough to think of Hans' future. If it were up to him, Hans would have never been paired with anyone, even if everyone else had already been married off. Or, worse, he would have been sent to the Brotherhood of Isles, forced to take a vow of silence.

But no. Thanks to Lars, that wasn't his fate anymore, and at eleven years old, Hans was already on his way to a brighter, better future than any of his brothers could ever hope to achieve. The trip to Arendelle was just icing on the cake, and Hans had been thrilled to spend the winter season away from his family.

If only Anna wasn't in the picture.

Anna, the second and youngest princess of Arendelle. A spare, just like him.

His eagerness to spend the holidays in his future home, to meet his future in-laws, to get to know his future wife, had been dampened thanks to her. Unlike Elsa — who was quiet and reserved, who was poised and graceful, whom Hans had barely even _seen_ since his arrival in Arendelle — Anna was a tornado with pigtails. She ran around the palace without care, always with reckless abandon, always with a grin, and always with something to say.

She was just so _talky._ And annoying. And wouldn't leave him alone. Everywhere he went, she was always one step behind, yammering in his ear about some story or another. There was no avoiding her — and _boy_, did he try — and Hans had no choice but to grin and bear it. Especially, as Lars liked to laughingly remind him, if Hans wanted to get in the King and Queen's good graces.

So here he was, acting like the princess' glorified keeper, as Anna pouted and knocked incessantly at her sister's door.

"Elsa!" Anna was saying, and the sound of her relentless knocking made his head pound. "Do you want to build a snowman? We could do it with Hans! I bet Hans wants to build a snowman with us. Don't you, Hans?"

She turned to him expectantly, and Hans gave her a strained smile. "Sure," he said through gritted teeth. "I'd love nothing more."

The sarcasm was lost on her, and she beamed at him before turning back to the door, knocking again. "You hear that, Elsa? Hans wants to play with us! Elsa? Elsa, I know you're in there! _Elsaaaaaaa."_

Not for the first time that day, Hans bit back a sigh. Elsa was probably trying to enjoy the silence — the sweet, blissful, blessed silence — before coming out to deal with her little sister. Maybe with Elsa with them, Anna would be easier to deal with, and Hans could have an actual conversation with his betrothed.

But the longer he and Anna stood there, waiting, the more it became clear that Elsa had no intention of opening her door. Hans watched as Anna's large grin faltered with each passing second.

In spite of himself, he couldn't help but frown. Since he arrived, he had only seen Elsa a handful of times, mostly during meals where her presence was required. Even then, she hardly said a word, speaking only when spoken to, each reply short but polite. Hans supposed she must be shy around strangers, and he could understand her need to keep to herself, but was it really necessary to lock herself in her room like this? To hide herself away?

Hans knew all about hiding, after all. He just couldn't understand why Elsa would need to. Anna, as draining and irritating as she was, was nothing like his brothers. The King and Queen of Arendelle were nothing like his parents. So why was Elsa not opening her door? Why wasn't she answering at all?

Anna seemed to have given up on Elsa replying. Her shoulders had visibly drooped, and her bright eyes had dimmed as she cast her gaze downward.

"Oh, well," she said hesitantly. "You're probably busy with — uh — the usual stuff, I guess. Maybe next time?"

There was no answer, but Anna didn't wait for one before dropping on her knees and elbows, peeking through the crack under the door.

"Anna," Hans began, "what are you —"

She slipped the drawing — the one she had been so proud of, the one she made while she insisted he tell her about every single detail of his castle in the Southern Isles, about what each of his brothers looked like, about his entire voyage to Arendelle — under the door and got back to her feet, grabbed his hand, then tugged him away like a ragdoll.

"C'mon!" she said excitedly, beaming again. "Let's go to the library! It's got load and loads of books and Papa said they're from all around the world — isn't that awesome? I bet you've got a library in the Southern Isles too, huh? I bet you've —"

"Wait," he interrupted, mind reeling. "That drawing. _Your_ drawing. You gave it to Elsa."

She nodded, not pausing in her steps. "I did! You think she'd like it?"

"Why?"

"Why would she like it?"

Again, Hans wanted to sigh. "I mean, why did you give it to her?"

"Oh. That." She took a deep breath, then, without pausing, went on, "Well, I dunno, I just thought she'd like to see what the Southern Isles looked like, 'cuz, you know, she didn't get to hear any of your stories at all, 'cuz she left so quickly after dinner and everything. And I bet she really wanted to hear 'em too, because she's in her room _all_ day and she never gets to hear the best stories. I bet she's really bored, staying in bed all the time, and I bet she really wanted to hear all about your castles and your ships and your horses and stuff, but she didn't 'cuz — I dunno, 'cuz she's Elsa like that — anyway. I didn't want her to miss out on all the fun, so I made her those drawings so she gets to see 'em even if she wasn't there!"

It took Hans a moment to make sense of her rambling, but when he did, all he could say was, "You've never seen them either."

"Yeah, but I've got you to tell me all the stories! Elsa doesn't have a storyteller like you so maybe we can make her drawings instead. Like in the storybooks." Anna brightened, and he could almost imagine a candle over her head, lighting up with an idea. "Oh, oh, _oh_! We should make her a storybook, all about your adventures! I bet she'll like that. Do you think she'll like that?"

Hans fell quiet, feeling something stir in his chest at her words. He couldn't imagine any of his brothers doing something like what Anna did and wanted to do for Elsa. If it were his family, they wouldn't even notice his absence, or would have thought of him at all, let alone care enough to make handmade presents and slip it under his door. Sure, there was Lars, and Hans was definitely grateful he wasn't like the rest of his brothers, but Lars wasn't exactly the affectionate, sentimental sort, and he was always too caught up in his books and research to think of much else.

"Yes, I think she will," Hans said after a while.

Anna _squealed_. "We should get started! I've got all my crayons and pencils and everything and — oh! We should do it in the library! Elsa _never_ goes to the library — well, she never goes _anywhere_ really — but I don't think I've _ever _seen her in the library. It's the perfect place — I bet she'll be _so_ surprised —"

She went on and on, talking a mile a minute. Hans let himself be dragged along, half-listening, but he couldn't help but smile and nod as he followed. The princess was annoying, certainly, but she was harmless and easily amused. He supposed there were worse ways to spend the holidays than acting like her royal babysitter.

_I won't be bored, at least, _he thought.

Anna stopped abruptly when they reached the library. Hans had already passed by the doorway, but Anna was staring at the decorations overhead, gasping, an awed look on her face.

"Mistletoe," she whispered, sounding almost reverent.

Sure enough, there it was, hanging above her, almost hidden behind all the other holiday ornaments. Squinting, Hans could see the mistletoe was still full of berries, and they seemed to gleam, almost tauntingly, amid the glittering decorations.

Hans grimaced. "C'mon, Anna," he said. "I thought you wanted to get started on your storybook —"

"Not before we kiss!"

He sighed. "We don't have to, Anna. It's just a plant."

She looked up at him with a horrified gasp, looking so appalled like he'd just done something terribly unforgivable. Like kicked a puppy or destroyed her snowman, or whatever it was that could be considered unforgivable for six-year-olds. "But it's _tradition,_" she said, reproachful.

Hans resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Technically, he could probably just carry her over his shoulder, bring her inside the library, and be done with it, but no doubt Anna would throw a fuss and start kicking and screaming. It wouldn't be worth it.

So, resigned to the lesser evil, he stifled another sigh and bent down to press a soft kiss on her forehead. When he straightened and stepped back, Anna was gaping at him, with wide eyes and pink cheeks, before the stunned look quickly melted into a glare.

"You missed!" she whined. "That's not a _real_ kiss!"

Hans could feel the beginnings of a smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he smothered it with a smirk. "Of course it is."

"Nu-uh!"

"And how do _you_ know what a real kiss is supposed to be like?"

Anna lowered her voice, glancing about her furtively like she was about to tell a secret. "It's s'pposed to go on the lips, over here," she whispered, pointing to her lips for good measure, as if he needed the reminder. "Like Mama and Papa do. Like in the fairytales."

"Fairytales aren't real, Anna."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Shows what you know! 'Course they are!"

This time he didn't bother to hide his annoyance as he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I still say it's a real kiss. The mistletoe tradition never said the kiss had to be on the lips."

She wasn't convinced. "How'd you know?"

"I read it. In a book."

"What book?"

"From the library."

Her brows furrowed, and she looked like she was in deep concentration, as though she was debating with herself, trying to fit what she knew with this new information. Then she nodded, self-assured and seemingly satisfied. "Okay, I guess," she said, a bit reluctantly. "But next time you have to give me a real kiss — not a stupid one on the forehead! A kiss like True Love."

"Like in the fairytales?"

"Exactly!"

"You're a bit young for True Love's kiss, aren't you?"

Anna tsked impatiently, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside the library. He was beginning to get used to it. "Then do it when I'm bigger, _duh_. You have to promise."

Hans wanted to laugh, but she was glaring at him so fiercely, so intensely, that he knew nothing less than an affirmative would sway her.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "I promise."

* * *

ii.

Kai had been with the royal family long enough to remember the days when the princesses were as thick as thieves, practically attached at hip. Back then, it was almost impossible to see one princess without the other trailing just a few steps behind.

But when the King and Queen decided to place the princesses in separate rooms, when they decided to close the gates, it was like the whole castle had changed overnight. Gone were the joyous, childish screams and giggling, and what were once two sets of footsteps, running to and fro the hallways, had turned to one. It made the palace seem too big, too empty, too cold, and the day Princess Elsa decided to spend her waking hours in the confines of her room, was the day Kai felt as though a light had been snuffed out in the kingdom, leaving only dimmed smiles and shrouding not just the royal family, but everyone else within the castle, in lonely shadows.

Now, Kai had some rather unfavorable opinions about certain practices that were common among the nobility. It wasn't his place to question Their Majesties, of course, but he certainly hadn't approved when he had learned of the engagement between Princess Elsa and a prince of the Southern Isles. Politics-wise, Kai agreed it was a good match, but for heaven's sake, they were only _children_.

Still, he remembered how Princess Anna's face lit up when she had first learned that Prince Hans was to spend the winters in Arendelle, and how Princess Elsa would wander more and more outside of her room as the prince's annual visits went on. Kai had to admit that some good had come out of the arrangement, as Her Highnesses had ended up with a playmate and a friend — or, in Princess Elsa's case, someone who was on his way to becoming one, if nothing else. Though she still insisted on staying in her room, she would come out to engage in small talk with him, and Kai had noticed that the prince was the only person she would approach and talk to at royal functions, on the rare times that she did initiate conversations.

Which was Kai felt a bit miffed on the princess' behalf, when he caught sight of Prince Hans slipping away from the ball, carrying a platter of what looked suspiciously like krumkakes. From what Kai could tell, no one but himself and the princess had noticed the prince's absence, and he saw her looking around the room, searching the crowd from her place on the dais.

_Why, the nerve of him! _Kai thought, affronted. _Leaving the princess alone . . . why I never!_

Once Kai was certain his presence was no longer needed, he too left the ballroom in search of the wayward prince. The boy needed a stern talking to. He was seventeen now, almost of age, and the ball was supposed to be held in his and his brother's honor — surely he had to know better by now, surely he was aware of how _rude_ it was, to leave the party just like that.

It didn't take long to find the prince in the gardens, but what surprised Kai was that he wasn't alone.

"The whole thing?"

"Yeah, the whole thing! You got it."

Kai felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline at the sound of Princess Anna's voice. Peeking behind the hedges, he found the two royals, giggling over a platter of krumkakes. Prince Hans was without his coat, and it was instead draped over the princess' shoulders, big enough to hide the nightgown she wore underneath.

Kai stepped back in the shadows to give them a bit of privacy, remembering then that it wasn't just Elsa who sought the prince's company during his visits. He recalled how fond of the prince Princess Anna was, always so delighted when he visited and despondent when he left. Kai remembered too how she had moped for weeks when the King and Queen informed her she was too young to attend the welcome ball.

_Oh well. . . ._

Kai could give them a few moments to catch up, he supposed, before he revealed himself. It wasn't as though the prince's presence was _that_ pressing of a matter, surely. . . .

"So what's it like?" the princess was saying.

"The ball?"

"_Duh_."

"All right, I suppose. A bit boring."

"Boring?" she echoed, sounding aghast to hear such a thing. "How can it be boring? I mean there's dancing and all those people and there's so much chocolate and food —"

The prince laughed. "It really is, Anna. There's hardly any people my age to dance with, and everyone else is busy talking about trade routes and politics."

"But Elsa's there." There was a pause, and the hesitation in her tone was clear when she continued, "Was she — was she having fun?"

"I don't think she was. She didn't even dance."

"Not even once?"

"Well, one dance. With me. It . . . could've been better."

The princess giggled. "Aww, how _romantic._"

"It wasn't," the prince said, sighing. "She kept stepping on my toes."

"Elsa? She would never!"

"You don't believe me?"

"You've seen her! She's so . . . graceful and perfect. I don't think she's even physically capable of being bad at anything."

"Clearly, you've never seen her dance."

Another pause, longer than the first, and Kai was just about to step forward to see what was wrong, when the prince spoke again.

"Anna?" he said worriedly.

"Nothing," and Kai could hear the sadness in her voice. "It's just — you're right. I've never seen her dance. She — uh — she never wanted to practice. With me, I mean."

"Oh." Prince Hans cleared his throat. Sounding rather awkward, he went on, "None of my brothers did either. I suppose . . . it's not _completely_ outside the realm of possibility that I . . . may have tripped a couple of times myself."

This made the princess laugh again. "I knew it!" she crowed. "And . . . _outside the realm of possibility_? Sheesh, Hans, do you always have to be so formal and proper?"

"Someone has to."

"Hey, I can be formal and proper!"

"Sure, Anna."

"Oh, just you wait, when I'm old enough to attend those stupid balls, I'll — I'll be so proper and sophisticated and graceful that you won't even recognize me, and the look on your face will be so —"

The princess stopped so suddenly that Kai couldn't resist sneaking another glance from his hiding place. Prince Hans had placed a chaste peck on her forehead, and was now pulling back to pluck a berry off the mistletoe hanging in the archway.

"Oh," Princess Anna said, turning as red as her hair.

The prince merely chuckled. "Tradition, remember?" he said lightly. "At least it got you to shut up."

She gaped at him. "Why you —"

Kai took that as his cue. He cleared his throat, stepping away from the shadows. "Your Highnesses," he said, bowing.

"Kai!" the princess exclaimed, delighted to see him. And then her face fell, realizing why he was here, and she said, much more dismally, "_Kai_."

"Now, my lady," he said reproachfully. "I believe it is time I escort you back to your chambers."

"But _Kai_," she said in whining tones, eyes large and imploring in the way Kai knew well.

"It _is_ past your bedtime, Your Highness."

Next to her, Prince Hans snickered, and she shot him a glare, hitting him on the shoulder hard enough that Kai caught him wincing. Kai turned his attention to the prince then, who gave him an easy, charming smile.

"I take it no one has noticed my absence?" he said, sounding certain.

"I believe the princess has, Your Highness." The prince looked stunned by this. Trying to inject a hint of humor in his tone, Kai added, "That, and the absence of a certain platter of dessert."

"Ah," was all Prince Hans said, his cheeks slightly tinged pink.

It was the princess' turn to snicker, which turned Kai's attention back to her. She made a face, giving a most unladylike groan.

"I know, I know," she grumbled under her breath. "Back to my rooms."

"Indeed." Kai nodded reprovingly. Turning to the prince, he said, "I trust you know the way back to the ballroom, Your Highness?"

"Yes, thank you, Kai," Prince Hans said somberly, looking contrite and properly chided.

And if Kai caught the prince slipping one last krumkake in the princess' hand as she was led away — well, he supposed he could turn a blind eye, just this once.


	2. Chapter 2

iii.

There was a lot that Elsa loved, really loved, about Hans Westergaard.

It didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes. At twenty, he was already the most handsome man she had ever met, striking but unassuming, beautiful but without pretentions. Yet for all his beauty, it wasn't his looks that had made her warm up to the idea of marrying him.

She loved that he was gentle and patient, that he was the picture of a charming prince and a doting fiancée. She loved that he was kind and polite to the palace staff and the servants, that he was approachable and friendly towards Arendelle's citizens, that he was unfailingly pleasant and amiable to even the rudest of visiting dignitaries. She loved that he always seemed to have a smile on his face, smiles of different types, from outright grins to crooked smirks to half-quirk smiles, like a shy, secretive kind.

She loved how he tried to understand her, how he tried to draw her out of her shell with books and dances and hot chocolate. She loved that he never tried to push her when she withdrew, when the crowds and the noise and the expectations became too much, when the thought of the crown on her head felt too heavy and the gloves felt too tight. She loved that he never tried to force her, never tried to fight her, when she would turn away from him and pull her hand from his. She loved that he respected that, her need for silence and isolation. She suspected he understood what it felt, to feel lonely and alone but to still need and long for it, for the comfort of an empty room and the safety of isolation, where she could hurt no one and not be hurt herself.

She loved that she could talk to him, about simple, harmless things like books and philosophers and poetry. She loved that she could talk to him about serious matters as well, like issues of the state and boring things like taxes and laws and politics.

So what if he rarely spoke of his life in the Southern Isles? So what if he hesitated to speak of his family? Of his brothers? Of his ambitions? It didn't matter to Elsa, who still couldn't bring herself to speak of the power at her fingertips and the ice in her veins. Who still couldn't bear the thought of leaving her room without her gloves on, or the thought of opening Arendelle's gates for longer than a day. Who still hesitated to let herself near her own sister, no matter how much she missed the days when they built snowmen and giggled over chocolate.

Elsa knew she didn't love him, not yet, but she loved a lot of things about him. She knew she could love him, in the future. How could she not, when he had so much for her to love?

Most of all, Elsa loved how Hans was with her sister, how he was with Anna.

Elsa had watched the two of them over the years, picking up on the small, almost-underlying actions between them. The way that Hans would always place a brotherly kiss on her forehead whenever Anna dragged him under the mistletoe. The way he discreetly let her get a spoonful or two of his dessert during dinner, but only if she promised to eat her broccoli and surrender her mashed potatoes. The way Anna would drag him to sit with her in the library, instead of disappearing off between the books, to read her a fairy tale or to practice her dance steps or to braid her hair. The way Hans would roll his eyes and heave put-upon sighs, lightly reprimanding her to return to whichever tutor she had escaped from, before giving in to her pouting and pleading, and indulging her whims. Later, as they grew older, these whims became rides around the castle grounds, or stories of his travels and adventures outside Arendelle, or sneaking inside the kitchens to smuggle truffles or sandwiches.

Hans was Anna's best friend, that much Elsa could see. If it wasn't for their betrothal, she knew Anna would insist on spending every waking moment of his visits with him, tagging along like a persistent shadow.

Perhaps, if Elsa were anyone else, she would be jealous of Anna for her closeness with Hans, but she wasn't. She trusted her fiancée and trusted Anna even more, and she knew that their friendship was just that — a friendship. Bonds like theirs were difficult to come by, Elsa would know, above anyone. So she could appreciate, above anyone, seeing it be played out before her.

If anything, a part of Elsa envied _Hans_, that he had such an easy friendship with her sister, but a greater part of her was relieved. She knew how lonely Anna was, how much she longed for company since Elsa had shut her out, and having Hans here, though his visits never lasted more than a few weeks, was probably one of the few highlights of her year.

The other highlight being the Winter Ball. Tonight was the first since their parents' passing, and at first Elsa hadn't wanted to host it at all, but watching Anna now, garbed in her green dress and her head adorned with a crown of mistletoe, Elsa was glad that she did. The night was still young and the party had barely begun, but already Anna was rosy-cheeked, hair slightly loose from its elegant updo, from all the dancing. She barely had time to sit down before another song started and another partner was offering her his hand.

Elsa, on the other hand, had refused every offer to dance, even her own fiancée's. She was standing near the dais, a wineglass in hand and Hans at her side, watching as Anna was yet again led to the dance floor.

"She's something else, isn't she?" Elsa said to Hans. "Anna's got two left feet when it comes to everything else, but dancing? There's no one else who can light up the room like she does."

"Yes, she's very talented," Hans said with a rueful grin. "As are you, Your Highness."

"You're too kind."

"I mean it, my lady." His grin grew wider, more playful. "I don't think there's anything you can't do."

"There are plenty of things I can't do," she said, laughing. "Dancing, for one."

"How about a quick turn then? To prove me wrong, if you wish it."

"Oh, no, you know I hate dancing. You're better off dancing with Anna. I'll just step on your feet and trip all over you."

"And you'll do it elegantly, I'm sure."

"Flatterer," she said, feeling her face warm. He really was handsome. "But I mean it. Anna's a much better dancer. It was a shame you weren't here during the Summer Festival. You should have seen her — she danced the whole day."

Something in Hans' eyes seemed to soften. "She must have been excited," he said, "to have the gates open."

"She was," Elsa said, for a moment lost in reminiscence.

"You're a good sister to her."

"I try to be."

They fell quiet for a moment, Hans turning towards the dance floor as the song came to a close. Elsa wondered what he was thinking, as he watched the couples sway and twirl and laugh.

_Perhaps he really does want to dance_. Elsa remembered how good he was at it, though they had only ever shared one, in a ball like this back when her parents were still alive and Anna was too young to attend. She remembered how he never let on that she had stepped on his toes, and how he moved with so much grace that it was almost hard to tell how wooden and stiff she had been in his arms.

"Anna looks like she's having fun," Elsa said, as the couples returned to their tables and Anna was led back to her seat.

The first notes of the next song began to play, and Hans' gaze never left Anna. "She does."

"You deserve to have some fun as well, Your Highness. Just because I make an awful dance partner doesn't mean you have to keep me company the whole night."

Hans turned to her then, opening his mouth to no doubt reassure her, but Elsa cut him off.

"I insist — ask her to dance. This is a great song. It'll be shame to let it pass without a partner."

He stared at her for a moment, looking like he was trying to make his mind up about something. Finally, he said softly, "Will you be all right?"

"I'm always all right," Elsa said, smiling tightly. It wasn't true and they both knew it, but he knew her well enough to hear the tone of finality in her words, and she knew him well enough to know that he understood.

Still, Elsa couldn't help but feel cold and empty as Hans left. She watched as he approached Anna, as Anna brightened at the sight of him, as he took her hand and kissed it, his eyes on hers. She watched as Anna practically dragged him to the middle of the ballroom, both of them grinning. She watched as they glided across the room, their movements graceful and in sync. Every turn was effortless, every twirl elegant, as though they were born to dance together and with no one else.

When the song was over, Hans bowed low and kissed Anna's knuckles again, then returned to Elsa's side, smiling. The dancing had brightened his eyes and made his skin flush with exertion, the warmth from his skin enhancing his perfume. Some strands of his hair fell from his coif just so, in an artful way that made Elsa dare to reach out and brush it back.

But most importantly, Anna was positively beaming now, vibrant and lively and sparkling with energy, more so than before her turn with Hans.

"That was beautiful," Elsa said. "I didn't know you could dance like that."

He laughed. "I owe it to years and years of practice, my lady."

"You should put it to good use then."

"I've rarely had the opportunity."

"Really? Didn't Lars say your father was fond of throwing parties?"

"He does, but women weren't exactly lining up to dance with me back home."

Elsa frowned, her brows furrowing in confusion. It was hard to imagine Hans simply sitting on the sidelines. He was too much like Anna — bright and striking, the type who could light up a room just by being there and being themselves. "You must have danced?"

For a moment, Elsa could have sworn there was flicker of _something_, a look she couldn't name that had passed over his face, but it was gone so quickly that she supposed it much have been a trick of the light.

"It's hard to find a partner," he said, "when there are twelve other princes all looking to dance. But the past few years, it didn't seem to matter that much."

"Why not?"

"I think I much prefer the balls here." He glanced down the dance floor again, and while Elsa couldn't read his eyes, it looked like he was thinking quickly about something. "And the company."

Before Elsa could follow his line of his sight, Hans had turned to face her, his hand outstretched. Elsa couldn't help but take a small step back, her stomach knotting.

"I – I don't know. . . ."

"One dance," he insisted. Seeing her hesitation, he said, with a charming smile that made him look boyish and shy, "You deserve a little fun too, Elsa."

It was the use of her name that gave her pause. Though they had been friends for years, and had been betrothed for longer, things had always been more reserved between them compared to his bond with Anna. Elsa supposed it was because of all those lessons on etiquette and decorum, but she and Hans rarely called each other by name, and the times they did made something inside her chest stir like a tuning fork.

Elsa bit her lip and looked away, her fingers tracing the edges of her gloves. "The last time we danced, I was stiff as a board and kept stepping on your toes."

Hans was still smiling when she raised her gaze to meet his. "I'll take my chances."

Elsa took his hand before she could convince herself otherwise, and Hans led her to the dance floor. A kind of ripple crossed the room as a few heads turned in their direction, and Elsa willed herself to keep calm, to not fidget under their intense stares. If the looks they were getting bothered Hans at all, he didn't show it. He was all grace as they danced, his attention on her, and Elsa tried to follow his lead.

_Conceal, don't feel . . . conceal, don't feel . . . conceal, don't feel. . . ._

A flash of red and green caught her eye, and without meaning to, her eyes drifted to Anna, who was sitting next to Lars, watching them with an odd look. It was . . . not _sad_, exactly . . . but almost _resigned_. . . .

Before Elsa could ponder what it meant, Anna was smiling at them, waving. Elsa waved back, and she heard Hans chuckle under his breath. He, too, had noticed Anna, and he and Elsa exchanged grins.

No, Elsa didn't love Hans. But perhaps, one day, she would learn to.


End file.
